


Painted Wyoming Skies

by calmaekel



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Emotions, Gen, Mutants, big sad, leaving parent, powers, tiny bit of blood mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:40:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23660953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calmaekel/pseuds/calmaekel
Summary: A little more backstory on Calliope's family and her father. Trust me, this will play heavily in the future of Cal and her adventures.





	Painted Wyoming Skies

The sun had barely dipped below the canvas of golden, swaying grain leaving itself in a beautiful tangerine sky. The orange warmth came forward and kissed the cheeks of the few who walked the dirt roads. There was a squeaking sound of a swinging porch bench being rocked gently by the long legs of a man who held a second woman, around the same age, close to him. They stared down at a small bundle of pink and white fabric with small laughs and shushes.

“No, no, no,” A sweet chirping laughed, “She looks like you after you got your wisdom teeth removed.” 

A second voice, far deeper than the sweet chirp laughed too, though the laugh turned quickly into a fake offended sounding breath. “Hey, that surgery hurt--they had to heavily sedate me for a reason.”

“That’s bull, Russ,” She turned her face toward the man with short, messy brown hair and sighed, “You’re the strongest man I know.” The man grinned and leaned in to kiss the girl. The baby, who was nestled in the woman’s arms shifted and whined. The woman frowned the slightest bit and sat the whining baby up in her arms. “Do you want us to be quiet, honey?” The baby continued to whine at her young mother’s words.

“Hold on,” The man leaned in and grabbed the baby up from the crook of her arms. He held the baby up and stared her in the eyes with a gentle smile. “Calliope Morgan Boyle,” The baby settled the tiniest bit and stared into her father’s eyes, being one of the few faces she could recognize at her ripe one-month-old memory. Though she squirmed a moment later. Russell smiled at the small child and brought her down, holding her close to his heartbeat. She immediately calmed and began breathing steadily again. “You don’t understand words yet, but I’m right here, and I’ve got you.” The woman smiled softly at the pair.

The sun dipped further and the last bit of orange light kept them warm. The woman reached over and wrapped the small blanket tighter around the infant. She leaned in and breathed the scent of her boyfriend. “You’re so good to her.”

“I’d hope,” He looked down to the little bundle who began to drift off to sleep, “Every little girl deserves a dad that spoils them, Cole.”

“I’m glad she has you to do that for her,” Colette said and watched as the last drip of sunlight ducked under the field of grain that stretched before them.

∽∽∽∽∽

The sun had hit hard, scorching the dirt it found. The heat accumulated from the sun moved through the thick tan soles of the pair of work boots Russell wore, heating the bottoms his feet. He grinned as he walked to the mailbox at the end of the drive, waving at a red pick-up that drove by. He tied a big bundle of colorful balloons to the white mailbox, struggling to tie the multiple strings on at once.

He felt a tug on his pant leg, his hand slid across the top of the red piece of the mailbox, slicing open the skin of his palm. He winced.

“Dada!” a squeal sounded from the area the tug came from. Russell tied it quickly and turned down to see his one-year-old. She had a big smile, and despite the fresh cut on his hand he smiled back. He glanced at his hand and watched as the cut slowly faded from his hand as if the injury had never happened in the first place.

“Hi, Cal,” He said and bent down to hold her. “Did mommy let you out?” Calliope grinned and held tight to Russell. He kissed her cheek, making her let out the smallest laugh. He ran a hand through her soft brown hair and Calliope sighed and laid her head down on Russ’s shoulder. He rubbed her back and began walking back towards the house, where Colette stood and smiled at the pair. She leaned up against the railing, her finger fit with a diamond engagement ring catching the sun and glittering beautifully.

Russell walked up the few stairs, each creaking from old age from the weight of his steps. Calliope immediately wiggled once she was in the line of sight of her mother, causing Russell to smile and set her down on the ground, so the one-year-old could walk her chubby legs over to her mom, her hands grazing the white railing of the porch. Colette smiled and picked her up.

“Happy birthday, baby,” Colette whispered, pressing her face against Calliope’s and kissing her cheek. Calliope chirped out a small laugh. Russell walked forward, leaning in and wrapping his arms around the two, his girls. He kissed each of them on the forehead, glancing up to the sky, which remained sunny and good.

“I’m gonna go finish up the decorations inside,” Colette said, she leaned her head up, kissing Russ and walking inside, Calliope raising a tiny hand and waving as they disappeared inside. Russ pushed his hair off his forehead and looked to the dirt road where an oddly clean black SUV drove by, a completely covered hand slowly reaching out the open window, and quickly dropping something thin and white in the freshly-ballooned mailbox. A wind picked up at the unease he felt. The window closed and the car drove off within seconds.

Russell turned to the front door, where he heard Calliope’s chirpy TV show playing, and then turned to the mailbox. He felt the wind as he stepped off the porch, retracing his steps to the mailbox. He bit his lip and turned to look down the road, seeing no black car shining in the sunlight. He reached his hand in the mailbox and tugged out the plastic-type white envelope, a strong wind blew as he read his own named printed almost robotically on the front with no return address or stamp. He slid his thumb under the flap of the envelope and felt as a few drops of rain began as he read what the letter said.

∽∽∽∽∽

The rain poured at 3 in the morning, Russell raised a hand and wiped his eyes. He moved slowly as to not wake his wife and two-year-old as he packed up a few of his favorite belongings into a leather suitcase. He looked at the series of letters he had received over the past year and a half. A roll of thunder, Russell looked up after a small survey of the noise around him. He breathed in deeply, the rain evened outside. He grabbed the suitcase and looked at his sleeping wife.

He turned to the dresser and opened a junk drawer. He grabbed the letters he had written the day prior, as well as the box wrapped in an old leather jacket.

“I love you,” He whispered towards Colette. There was a second roll of thunder as he turned from the room. He stepped out of the room and set the letters on the small dining table, placing the one labeled “Colette” at her seat, and placing the jacket and second letter, labeled “Calliope”, in the high chair. The table Russell had eaten countless meals with his wife and child, with family and friends. A tear dripped from his eye and a bolt of lightning struck.

“Daddy?” A small voice whispered, with no energy. Russell looked up to see his tiny child standing in her doorway. He set down the suitcase and immediately walked to her side. He bent down and picked her up for the last time. He held her tight to his chest, her tiny hand reaching up and wrapping in the cloth of his t-shirt. There was barely any light in the room but Russell watched her. He felt her warmth against his chest, the way she would press her head against his chest to hear his heartbeat, the way her breath would even out. The calmness she had compared to her normal energy of a loud, rambunctious, happy toddler. Russell walked back into her room slowly and sat on the edge of her small toddler bed.

“I love you, baby,” Russell whispered, not too loud to not cause himself to cry. There were still tears that found their way down his cheeks in thin tracks. He lifted the small figure up and kissed her on the head gently. “No matter what happens, you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” He whispered against her hair. She let out the tiniest of snores and loosened her grip on his t-shirt. He turned and placed Calliope down on her bed, tucking her in gently and making sure she was still asleep before standing and looking down. “I’m sorry,” He whispered again, a phrase he hated that he even had to say it.

He walked away from the room and grabbed up his suitcase from next to the table. He felt a lump in his throat and the storm increased in severity. He opened the door and took a step out, he stood on the porch and turned to the swinging bench--the place he’d watch the grain sway and rock his baby to sleep and kiss Colette’s tired head. A place of peace, now being blown by the wind with reckless abandon. Russell choked on the lump and let out a loud sob as he ran to his old run-down pick-up that was covered in rust. 

He piled into the old truck and just cried. He cried for Calliope having to grow up without him, for Colette having to raise her on her own, for him being the shittiest person alive to leave a 20-year-old and a 2-year-old to fend for themselves. The storm blew violently with his emotion, the dry season no longer dry. Russell started the truck and wiped his eyes and drove off the property for the last time--saying goodbye to everything he knew for the last time, the skies of Wyoming waving him goodbye with its cruel portrait of his emotion tearing at everything around him.


End file.
